How to Quiet a Raging Storm
by Jaswinder
Summary: Sequel to Mysterious Ways The drama of the Society of Light may be over, but Manjoume's still very much the Hanged Man. Defeated and delirious, he starts to see more than Duel Spirits...
1. Vertigo

**How to Quiet a Raging Storm**

**Author's Notes:** This story is catharsis. Nothing else.

It's a selfish reason to write a fic, I know, but something in me wanted to capture this experience on paper, through the eyes of a third person observer instead of the victim in the thrall of the situation.

This was pretty much entirely inspired by the U2 album, 'How to Dismantle an Atomic Bomb'. There's a story in all eleven songs and how they're strung together, each one representing, in my interpretation, a step on a transformative path. I won't give away the crux of the story; you'll probably figure it out along the way.

This whole fic is a sequel to 'Mysterious Ways' and the events of that evening; it's set sometime after the second season and sometime before the third. The same warnings of that fic apply here.

---

_I'm at a place called vertigo_

_It's everything I wish I didn't know_

_But you give me something_

_I can feel_

_I can feel you teaching me_

_Your love is teaching me_

_How to kneel…_

---

Every time he closed his eyes, the water rushed over his face again.

He felt the torrent roar into his ears. It raked into his hair and reduced it to a black, free-flowing mass. It splashed over his cheekbones, burned his eyes and left salt on his lips.

Manjoume kicked and arched his back, trying to claw his way back to oxygen. Strong arms held him under. His coat billowed in the water and he could feel his feet flail in the air just above the ocean uselessly.

The upset brine was a veil in front of his eyes. It warped his clouded, stinging vision.

But just beyond the water and tears, he thought he saw a smiling face, and all the fight in him left.

He drifted there in the dark, looking up.

---

Misawa and Juudai exchanged mildly concerned looks.

They'd been walking down the path to the Ra cafeteria, discussing dueling strategies – well, Misawa was, Juudai was mostly making explosion sound effects – when they noticed a black shape in the grass beside the path.

It was Manjoume, laid out on the ground with his arms stretched out, eyes locked on the sun. He looked deep in thought, his gaze and mind on something far away.

Misawa furrowed his brow. Manjoume's unpredictable and arguably unstable psyche had always made him uncomfortable. The boy struck him as irrational and indecisive. He was no one to criticize someone for having a thousand decks – but at least his deck choices were conscious. Manjoume's seemed to be based on whim.

As did all of his posturing and motions of grandeur.

But while Misawa had stood there, contemplating his sometimes rival, sometimes acquaintance, Juudai had run up to the dark-clad boy and started nudging him in the side with his foot to no avail.

"Come on, Manjoume! Jeeze! You've been like this for weeks!"

No immediate response. Juudai kicked him a little harder, and a pale hand shot up to grab the offending sneaker.

"…thunder."

Juudai and Misawa blinked down at the otherwise inert boy. His slanted gray eyes slowly regained their focus and flicked upwards towards them in a hateful glare.

Juudai grinned. "That's more like it!"

Manjoume closed his eyes in quiet but obvious irritation, but said nothing.

"C'mon, get up. Wanna duel?" Juudai offered, but a faint frown betrayed his concern.

The closed eyes shut a little tighter and Manjoume's lip twitched. "Leave, idiot. You're giving me a headache."

Juudai's hopeful grin dropped off his face. "You sound like Asuka when she gets moody."

Manjoume's eyebrows dipped down into a fearsome scowl.

"You have two seconds to get the hell away from me."

"Bah, Manjoume! Snap out of it!" Juudai was unperturbed, setting his arms akimbo and looming over the other boy, making a face at him and waving his disk-clad arm at him. "I bet you'll feel great after a few good duels!"

One of Manjoume's eyes opened by a sliver. "I'll shove that duel disk where the sun doesn't shine."

Manjoume's deadpanned threats seemed to fall on deaf ears, though. Juudai freed his foot from Manjoume's clutches and stood upright, shrugging at Misawa. Misawa sighed.

"He has a point, Manjoume," Misawa started cautiously, crouching by the still boy, "Understandably, the brainwashing left us all disoriented, but I can attest that I've made a full recovery, as has Asuka, and the other students that were taken by Saiou. Therefore, I must conclude that something additional is amiss in your case."

There was a long and uncomfortable silence.

"As far as we know you were also the first student to be taken by Saiou, so perhaps something else is different. You never told us, Manjoume, what exactly happened that night?"

The silence stretched on and became progressively tenser.

"You want to know what was different?" Manjoume finally hissed and tightened his shoulders, "He _asked me_. Saiou didn't do anything by force, he _asked me_ and I said _yes._"

"That isn't so strange. I admit, he tempted me with promises of glory and recognition and I fell victim to them as well," Misawa countered.

"No, he didn't give me _visions_," Manjoume sat up, digging his fingers into the grass, "He didn't hypnotize me or trick me. He told me I was stagnant, and that he could help me rise to glory again…"

More silence. Juudai scowled slightly and prepared to nudge Manjoume in the side again, but Misawa halted him with a wave of his hand.

"I see," Misawa looked thoughtful for a moment, then nodded, "I think I understand now. You carry around guilt for starting the whole fiasco, simply because of your petty rivalry with Juudai here."

"No!" Manjoume bristled and turned to glare at him, looked over his shoulder to Juudai to give him a thorough glaring as well, then shook his head quickly, "Forget it. Don't even _pretend _to understand."

"Come on, now." Misawa sighed. "We – your friends – are concerned about you. What's really bothering you?"

Manjoume sank into his coat, hunching his shoulders. "Two things."

Misawa and Juudai cocked their heads attentively and waited for him to continue.

"Two things that insist on _harassing me_," Manjoume narrowed his eyes at them pointedly, "Is it so much to ask for a minute of silence to think?"

But by this point, Misawa and Juudai had known Manjoume for two years, and were unruffled him, especially Juudai. The boy in red sat down in the grass beside his brooding peer.

"Whatcha thinkin' about?"

"That doesn't _concern_ you."

"Sure it does," Juudai grinned, "Lemme guess, last night?"

Manjoume flinched faintly and Juudai puffed up in victory.

"Hmm," Misawa held his chin thoughtfully, "What exactly happened last night, anyway?"

"Manjoume came into the Red dorm all wet and angry," Juudai piped up, "and said Fubuki tried to drown him, but Fubuki was there the whole—"

Misawa grimaced. "I know that part, Juudai, I was there when—"

"It wasn't drowning."

Manjoume's abrupt interjection seemed to leave all three of them surprised. Even he was blinking dumbly, and for a moment, his defensive anger was replaced with genuine confusion.

"What happened, then?" Misawa encouraged him.

Manjoume shut his eyes again, visibly fighting back crude and dismissive comments with every breath. "I don't even know what that _was_."

Juudai set his chin in his hands. "Why were you all wet?"

"Because!" Manjoume snarled, balling his fists, "I don't care what he says, I don't care what _any_ of you say, he was out there on that beach with me last night, and he tried to—"

"Tried to what?"

"He grabbed me and picked me up," Manjoume mimicked this with his hands, "And walked straight into the damn ocean and just _dropped_ me in."

"Momentarily discounting the fact Fubuki _was_ at the Osiris dorm while all this was happening… As if he was roughhousing?"

"No," Manjoume leered at the distant ocean, "He told me to trust him, and after he dropped me in the water… he held me under."

Juudai and Misawa exchanged another uncertain glance.

"Sounds dreadful," Misawa started sympathetically, then furrowed his brow. "Though – pray tell – if forcibly holding someone else under water _isn't_ an attempted drowning, what is it?"

But Manjoume was done talking to them. The boy stood up abruptly.

"I don't care." Manjoume pushed his bangs out of his face, "I'm sick of being harassed by things that aren't real."

He started walking way. Juudai scrambled to his feet and waved, "Wait! Manjoume!"

"Don't bother, Juudai," Misawa stood up and brushed off his knees. "It's no use."

They watched Manjoume's dark form disappear down the path, and Misawa resigned himself to his previous assertion.

The boy that called himself Thunder would always be as predictable as his namesake.

---

It was a dream.

It was a hallucination.

Manjoume had decided this after several minutes of angry walking.

It had to be – when he thought about it, reality allowed for no other possibilities. He had almost settled on this conclusion when Misawa and Juudai had descended from nowhere to interrogate him.

Unless…

The boy stopped dead in his tracks when he reached his empty room. He waited in stony silence, keen to the currents of the air and its movement around him.

_Twitch._

His hand shot out and clamped down tight on what passed for Ojama Yellow's ethereal neck. The spirit sputtered and flailed.

"_Explain._"

The order was issued from between Manjoume's clenched teeth, and his stormy gray eyes narrowed to slits. Ojama Yellow shrunk down and trembled in his grasp.

"E-explain what, boss?"

"You know damn well what I mean."

Yellow stared, his stalk eyes blinking and drooping slightly in bewilderment.

"The spirit last night!" Manjoume flung the alien-beast into a wall. Yellow squealed and passed right through it, only to meekly re-emerge from wood paneling momentarily.

"Boss, I don't—"

"Was it Copycat?" Manjoume narrowed his eyes, looming over the Ojama. The yellow alien squeaked and cowered behind a picture frame, one eyestalk peeking out from behind it. "Why the hell was it pretending to be Fubuki?"

"I don't think any monster—"

"Was it something using a spell card? Can they even do that?" Manjoume considered a moment, then tore one of his drawers open, taking out his boxes of cards. He dumped them out across the floor without hesitation and started shuffling through them obsessively, looking for any potential culprits.

Yellow gave him a wide berth, drawing his hands into balls and biting his oversized lip. The little duel spirit wasn't sure if he should say anything or not.

"Boss…"

"Metamorphosis? Physical Double?" Manjoume rifled through his rainbow of cards, "Which one of you bastards did it?"

"_Boss…_"

"It's bad enough you peons keep me up all night! You better hope I don't find you, I'm tearing your card in half!" Manjoume snarled and shoved one pile of cards aside to attack another, sending some flying. Yellow dodged as best as he could and winced when one card passed through him.

"Boss, please…"

"Don't _interrupt_ me, you useless little small-fry, I'll tear you up too," Manjoume uttered darkly, otherwise paying the hovering little alien no heed. His eyes fell on one stray card, suspiciously separate from the rest. Manjoume zeroed in on it, coiling.

He pounced on the card, coming down on it with enough enthusiasm to send it skidding across the floor and well out of his reach. Determined and furious, he tried to follow it, but his knee was on a pile of slick cards and slipped out from under him, sending the boy face first into his floor. He swore violently, and Yellow covered his ears.

The duel spirit cautiously unplugged his ears after a deathly quiet had fallen over the room, and frowned down at his master. Manjoume hadn't moved from where he'd fallen.

The fall had rattled Manjoume's brain and in that moment of clarity, he realized the inanity of what he was doing. Cards were scattered across the floor and over his bed, and a few far-flung ones had landed on his windowsill and in discarded piles of clothes. His room was in general disarray, and he was sprawled out like a fool in the middle of the senseless destruction. His pride stung, badly.

_What the hell…_

Manjoume closed his eyes and his frame slumped into a defeated prostrate position on the floor.

"Boss, you okay down there?" Yellow came to rest on Manjoume's shoulder, concern in his nasally voice.

"…always one or the other…" Manjoume muttered into the floorboards.

Ojama Yellow scratched his head. "Huh?"

"I'm either on top of the whole damn world," Manjoume hissed softly, lifting his head with what seemed like monumental effort. "…or at the very bottom. Either I'm winning or it is…"

He stared at the errant card that had bested him, just out of his grasp.

Then he saw a pair of sandals standing beside the card.

Sandals with feet in them.

A hand reached down from somewhere outside his range of vision, scooped up the card that had so spectacularly evaded him, and handed it to him in friendly offering. Manjoume's eyes followed the arm up its length and saw a familiar smiling face.

He felt a chill.

Still, Fubuki's smile was warm. "You could always just stop fighting, Manjoume-kun."

Manjoume stared.

"If you try and take on the world, the world will always win," the surfer idol spoke, crouching down and peering at Manjoume over his knees.

"F-fubuki?," Manjoume manage to wheeze and flinched at the sound of his own voice. "I…"

"You're not failing, Manjoume-kun."

"Everything's out of control," Manjoume hunched and mumbled, covering his head with his arms.

"No," Fubuki's voice seemed cheerful while Manjoume's was afraid his own would crack, "Nothing was ever really in your control."

Manjoume recoiled and hid deeper in his own arms.

"All you can worry about is yourself, Manjoume. Not Juudai. Not Saiou. Not what other people think. Not your victories. Not your past. Not your brothers. Not luck. Not fate. Not destiny. Not power. Not glory. These things come and go. Crushing them, controlling them, gaining them – it won't sustain you in the long run."

"There _isn't_ anything else," Manjoume squeezed his head defensively.

"Okay, suppose you had that. Suppose you defeated Juudai. That you rose back to the ranks of Obelisk Blue, and you were undefeatable. Suppose you graduated with the highest honors and greatest record of anyone in Duel Academy's history."

Manjoume started to lift his head with interest.

"You proved yourself to everyone. You had the respect and adoration of everyone around you. You go on to rock the pro leagues and become nothing less than the worldwide champion. You have all the glory and fame in the world."

"How?" Manjoume stared up at what he was almost positive wasn't Fubuki, but at the moment he didn't care, "How would I do that?"

Fubuki frowned. The faintest sign of disappointment creased his brow, and Manjoume felt struck. He shrunk back into his coat.

"Manjoume-kun," Fubuki started, reaching out. The younger boy tried to duck his head away, but could not completely evade the big warm hand that came to rest on the top of his head.

"That's what Saiou offered you. Didn't you learn from that?"

"Saiou – he – if Juudai hadn't – maybe…"

"If you win everything – if you gain everything – then what?"

"…Eh?"

"Then what?"

"I… I'd be happy," Manjoume admitted quietly. The warm weight of Fubuki's hand on his head was oddly comforting.

"How long do you think it'd last?"

Manjoume blinked.

"You know how much the pro-leagues churn. How long do you think it'd be until someone better than you finally came along? Till your luck ran out and gave someone else a shot?"

"I—"

"You'd be back here again." Fubuki's fingers gently sank into his hair as if Manjoume were some kind of housecat. "That's the problem with fighting your way to the top. In the end, someone else will always have more fight in them than you."

"So," Manjoume's voice lost its life, and he shook his head half heartedly, dislodging Fubuki's hand. "You're saying I'll never be happy."

"You'll be happy someday, Manjoume-kun. But no one comes to joy through fighting."

Manjoume squinted at him, waiting. "What then?"

"The greatest of all things."

"Don't talk in riddles."

"Love, Manjoume."

"…"

"You can win every duel as long as you live, but without love, what do you have but more trophies and prize money?"

"…"

"You can be rich enough to hire both your brothers as your personal servants, but without love, will any amount ever buy them back as your brothers?"

"…"

"You can have Asuka and any other woman you ever wanted, but without love, what would you have? A harem?"

Manjoume's squint became a scowl. "…What kind of hippy new age crap is this?"

Fubuki chuckled. "You'll see what I mean."

Manjoume was about to argue, when he noticed Fubuki was still holding out the card for him to take. He snatched it out of the older boy's hand.

It was only then he realized which card it was.

The faintly smiling face of _Change of Heart_ stared up at him, half shadowed, half illuminated.

If he dwelt on it, he might've let that strike him as significant, but he didn't allow himself the indulgence. Instead, he started to make a comment, but a quick glance upwards told him Fubuki was gone.

"Uh… boss?"

He turned his attention to the duel spirit on his shoulder, who looked disturbed.

Manjoume huffed. "_That's_ what I was talking about. I know it has to be one of you doing it, so spill."

"W-who? Your bed?"

"Eh?"

Yellow looked back and forth, following Manjoume's previous line of sight. Indeed, directly before him was his bed, and nothing else.

"Uh… what's... what's your bed saying?"

"…"

"I'm really sorry boss, but I'm confused… Who you were talking to?"

"You little idiot, he was right in front—"

"We were watchin' the whole time, boss," Black suddenly spoke up, appearing on the other side of Manjoume's head. "None of us saw anything. You feelin' okay?"

Manjoume turned his head to look back at his room. Dozens of duel spirits were staring at him, sitting on his furniture or hovering in the air, and each looked as concerned as their respective features would allow. They were just as perplexed as Misawa and Juudai.

Not even his _old_ delusions believed him anymore.

Manjoume's head and shoulders sank back down onto the floor. His shoulders shook. Sheer frustration had put knots in his chest and throat.

He was sick of fighting.

The Ojamas, more perceptive than he'd give them credit for, collectively took the hint and started waving the other spirits back into their cards silently, and then made themselves scarce before any of them could see him break down.


	2. Miracle Drug

**Chapter 2: Miracle Drug**

**Author's notes:** I just realized Misawa isn't around by this point in the series. Whoops. This story doesn't fit 100 in with the canon timeline. Oh well, I'll call it AU. :P

If I didn't make it clear, this is the beginning of a long story. I'm sorry if it seemed like that last chapter was a standalone; it wasn't by a long shot.

---

_I want to trip inside your head  
Spend the day there...  
To hear the things you haven't said  
And see what you might see_

_I want to hear you when you call  
Do you feel anything at all?  
I want to see your thoughts take shape  
And walk right out_

_I've seen enough of romantic love  
I'd give it up, yeah, I'd give it up  
For a miracle_

_A miracle drug…_

---

It was supposed to get better, not worse.

Days had passed since that last encounter. Manjoume was standing on the beach. Water lapped at his brown loafers and made them sticky with sand. The cuffs of his jeans were cold and wet and clinging to his socks.

It was the same spot. The tide had long ago washed away the signs of their struggle, but the sunset unfurling over the ocean brought him back to the incident with… well, to the incident.

His body was running on automatic pilot. He walked, he ate, he slept, he dreamt, he attended classes, he did homework – but participated in none of it. Manjoume had muffled his mind until it was a quiet buzz. Every thought that managed to escape threatened to unleash an avalanche of questions, to rip open the seam on his sanity. Juudai and the others had made a few more unsuccessful attempts to reach him, but the tipping point had been when Juudai launched a fried shrimp at Manjoume's head, and the normally explosive boy didn't even blink. Even Chronos-sensei had expressed mild concern, but Manjoume didn't hear it.

No, that wasn't true. He heard them.

_What's wrong, Manjoume?_

_Why are you being like this?_

_Is something going on?_

He didn't answer because he didn't know the answer, and he was still himself enough to be too proud to admit that. So each time he walked away. Ignored it. Glared the asker into quiet submission.

Because of the way he had bolted his mind down out of desperation, he felt strangely empty.

Or had he been empty all this time?

With all his pride, all his anger, all his determination, all his fury – with all that shoved away, is this what he really was underneath it all? Empty? Confused?

Defeated.

He'd been fighting all his life for one reason or another. Maybe he had just finally lost.

He was tired. The warm ocean looked almost inviting. Unbidden, the memory of his spontaneous immersion flooded his mind just as the water had his vision, and it was accompanied by a sharp, stabbing emotion in his chest.

But it wasn't the one Manjoume was expecting. It wasn't anger that speared him, or fear, or betrayal.

He suddenly and inexplicably felt a keen sense of loneliness.

Fubuki – the one he was sure was real – had avoided him since the incident and hadn't had anything to do with him after the entire Saiou fiasco. Though the idol was not outwardly upset, Manjoume felt that some kind of connection had been irrevocably severed with his old _shishou_. His crimes against Asuka while under the influence of Light were more than even the jester could truly forgive, it seems.

Guilt seeped into the loneliness like a cloudy black dye. The two draining emotions coalesced into a veritable vortex in the core of his being. It felt like it was sucking his soul, his energy, his _life_ into itself and leaving him a useless husk.

Manjoume closed his eyes and steeled his jaw. Every inch of his face ached as he forced it into an iron mask of indifference. He would not crack _again_. His lapse of will in his dorm room, atop his scattered cards, had itself been a nearly unforgivable act of cowardice.

If he had to, he would turn off everything until there was nothing left of his mind, but he _would not break_.

Manjoume Jun lifted himself up, took a deep breath, glared at the fading sun, and started trying to walk away from a black hole.

---

He burst through the entrance to the Osiris Red rec-room with a force and fury he had not exhibited in quite some time.

Shou was the only one around to witness Manjoume's thunderous entrance, and he nearly jumped. After the small boy had collected his wits, he looked up at the source of the ruckus. Surprise became curiosity, and curiosity became hope. Manjoume lifted his head high and commanded Shou's attention. Just like the good old days.

_That's right,_ Manjoume took a silent pride in the relief in Shou's eyes, feeding on it, _Nothing's wrong with me. Nothing's different. As you were._

"Hello, Manjoume-kun," Shou ventured nervously, and Manjoume immediately fell into his old role. He took one look at the short Ra student and disregarded him with snort. Still, he saw Shou smile out of the corner of his eye. "Are you feeling better?"

"Feh," Manjoume replied, and turned his attention instead to the crackling TV Shou had been watching. There was a kiddy cartoon playing, a colorful, sugary affair full of simple designs and simple problems.

"_Cartoons_," Manjoume wrinkled his nose disdainfully.

"So?" Shou huffed and folded his arms, "Pegasus himself watches them all the time!"

"He's a multibillionaire, he can get away with it," Manjoume pointedly rolled his eyes at whatever was playing out on the screen.

"There's nothing wrong with them," Shou defended his hobby quietly.

"Why do you like them?"

Shou blinked at him.

Manjoume wasn't so sure himself, but he shook his head and continued. "Look at yourself. You're what, sixteen? But here you are, watching something for preschoolers. I know you collect manga, too – you even play cartoons in your deck. Do you not want to grow up or something?"

Shou glared at Manjoume over his glasses, and the dark-clad boy swore there was a _hint_ of the same kind of cold fury Kaiser could shoot at his opponent with a well-placed glance.

"I don't know," Shou muttered quietly, "Why do _you_ feel the need to prove you're better than everyone else?"

Manjoume was taken aback. He started to snarl something back at the Ra student, but Shou continued.

"Yeah, I watch cartoons. I read comics. I even pretend Juudai is my big brother, because my real big brother doesn't want me. In fact, I pretend about a lot of things. But," Shou stared ahead at the television, "I _could've_ been just like you, and I still think pretending is better than that."

No words came to Manjoume.

He was right.

If there was anyone on the island who knew what Manjoume was going through, it was this short blue-haired boy. Here was a boy that lost more than he won, who suffered a terrible inferiority complex due to a power-hungry brother that seemed unstoppable. For all his brothers had done to him, the elder Manjoumes had never _electrocuted_ Jun.

Manjoume coped by trying to conquer reality. Shou coped by replacing it.

For once, Manjoume was not so certain his way was so superior. But he'd fought reality too long. He lost his childhood. No amount of pretending would ever get it back. Shou still had a great reserve of innocence, but his was spent.

Silenced, Manjoume shut his mouth, turned on his heel, and left Shou to his fantasies.

---

"Hey! Manjoume!"

"San-daa."

The reaction was knee-jerk by now. Almost anyone else could get away with shouting his name without the honorific but _him._ Manjoume didn't even have to see Juudai; he had his rival's voice well memorized.

It had assaulted him as soon as he stormed back outside the Red dorm. Sure enough, its owner bounced up to Manjoume's side and refused to be ignored.

"Wanna duel?"

Manjoume stopped. He stared at Juudai with disbelief. That question was so stereotypical, so callous, so – so _unthinking_ as to be outrageous. He briefly wondered if Juudai was somehow joking, but there was no hint of irony on the boy's happy face. He was absolutely sincere, just as he always was.

"You do realize there's more to life than a goddamned card game, don't you?" Manjoume narrowed his eyes, insulted and threatened by Juudai's ridiculously open nature. He always was. He simply could not understand it.

"Sure," Juudai was unflinching, "There's eating, and friends! And space aliens!"

"You idiot," Manjoume had not yet quite recovered from Shou so brazenly putting him in his place, so he had to lash out at _someone_. "This is a world full of misery. Deceit. How can you _not see that_? How can you not understand that most people here are fighting for _power_? How?"

A note of desperation crept into the last question, and Manjoume paled slightly as he realized part of him badly wanted to know Juudai's secret.

The other boy looked confused, but thoughtful. He pondered a moment, and then shrugged. "You got me. I guess I just don't really care."

"You don't care that you come off as a naive fool? A childish, immature freak?"

"Can't say I do," Juudai spread his hands innocently. "I'm just here to have fun."

Manjoume was incredulous. "You don't care about your future? Your career? Your reputation? Your grades?"

Juudai seemed to mull over this question as well, then shook his head. "I can deal with that stuff when the time comes. All that really matters to me is having a good time and sticking with my friends, you know?"

Manjoume stared at his rival, who had either achieved zen-like enlightenment, or was mired so deeply in his own, secluded little world of ignorance and apathy that nothing would ever pull him out. Manjoume really didn't know which it was, and it didn't matter. Either way, he felt nothing but envy. He would never have that kind of carefree bliss. The world had been on his shoulders from the day he was born. The weight and the burden and the struggle were all he knew.

_No,_ he answered internally, _I don't know._

--- _  
_

It was the weekend, so the school halls were empty and quiet. Students were milling around at all of his usual outside brooding spots. Manjoume didn't feel like tromping around in the woods, so he came here as a last resort.

The echoes of his footsteps followed him down the hall, his only companions. He passed empty classrooms, and almost didn't notice when one showed signs of life.

It was Misawa. Having long since run out of room on his walls, the boy had taken to capitalizing on the unused chalkboards idling in vacant classrooms. Manjoume paused by the door, watching the grey-haired boy scrawl equations frantically. Misawa's hands obviously could not keep up with his mind, and the latency seemed to torture him.

He seemed to reach some sort of conclusion and made one deep, finalizing mark on the outer edge of the chalkboard and stopped, panting.

Manjoume was not a slacker when it came to studies. He routinely got excellent grades, even in math class. But the jumble on the board was a meaningless mess to him. He could make out a few readable pieces of arithmetic in the tangle of numbers and arcane Greek symbols, but they told him nothing.

Curiosity got the better of him and for the moment, he put aside his personal dislike of the math genius. "So what's the answer?"

Misawa jerked in surprise and dropped chalk, spinning sharply on his heels to face his intruder. He looked like he'd been caught doing something criminal and indecent. "That's none of your concern!"

"Relax, I'm not going to tell anyone you're in here," Manjoume snorted and dug his hands deep into his pockets. He was running out of steam for confrontations today, and some small part of him wondered if he was slipping back into the repressed trance he'd been in for days.

Misawa regarded the dark-coated boy suspiciously, but his pride seemed to win out over his mistrust, and he looked back over his handiwork. "Just part of a hypothesis I'm working on. You see, there's this strategy called card counting. It's basically applying rules of probability and ratios to card decks and using math to predict what cards an opponent still has in their deck, therefore giving oneself the ability to mathematically determine the likelihood of their next draw. But they were only working with a mere deck of regular playing cards. To apply the theory to Duel Monsters, I've abstracted it out to a grand scale and I'm working in factors such as the rarity and distribution of certain kinds of cards, their overall popularity, trends in deck strategies—"

Manjoume was starting to regret asking.

"…so that's the gist of it," Misawa finished, obviously quite pleased with himself.

Manjoume joined him in looking the board over and pretended the figures on it meant something to him. "So you think you can predict what someone's going to draw, with math?"

"Eventually, perhaps. It's much easier if I'm familiar with someone's deck, but I believe with enough work, it will be possible to determine the probability of _any_ given card being in _any_ given deck. Being aware of the likely contents of their hand lets me predict any potential avenues they may take as a strategy and cut them off before they even begin."

Manjoume nodded and spoke almost idly. "You don't play this game for fun, do you."

Misawa was momentarily puzzled by the comment, a look of faint indignation crossing his face. "Of course not. While I certainly find the rigors of scientific and mathematical research rewarding and enjoyable, I don't do these things for my _amusement_. Duel Monsters is simply a very convenient testing ground for a lot of my math theorems. I want to prove to the world that math can even conquer what seems to be a sport based primarily on chance and so-called 'talent'."

"And not that just that _you_ can conquer it, right?" Manjoume looked at him pointedly.

Misawa huffed. "I've no need to conquer it; I seek merely reveal the truth. Math, logic and science are the laws in the universe. They are the rules by which reality plays. Understanding of these laws leads to a comprehension of reality and how to manipulate it to any given end. We can achieve _anything _with science -- unfortunately, too many people are afraid and ignorant."

Maybe Misawa was on to something. There was something immensely comforting in his words, and Manjoume could tell this Ra student was far more on his own wavelength than Shou or Juudai. Nonetheless, he felt inclined to sneer.

"So, can science help me stop seeing Ojamas?"

Misawa furrowed his brow. "I suspect you have a form of schizophrenia that has obviously latched on to your obsession with dueling. It commonly manifests itself in the form of hallucinations and hearing voices. A proper course of therapy and medication may alleviate the symptoms."

Manjoume stiffened. That was supposed to be a rhetorical question. "Fine, can it say how was Saiou controlling us?"

Misawa tapped his chin. "Immense personal charisma and manipulative abilities, with a keen sense for peoples' psychological weaknesses. He had a unique set of cards, and I wouldn't be surprised if they contained subliminal messages that contributed to the sense of brainwashing."

Manjoume's eye was starting to tick. Misawa's know-it-all nature was just frustrating him, now, but some hopeful part of him pushed forward. Maybe he really _did_ have all the answers. Maybe this could fill the black hole. Maybe this was it –

"Can it tell me how I can make Tenjoin-kun love me?"

The blurted question hung in the air and made it uncomfortable. Both boys looked ruffled and uneasy. Misawa had no immediate answer. He started, paused, frowned, looked back at the chalkboard to perhaps divine some answer from the algebra sprawled across it, then bit his lip.

"_Anything_, huh." Manjoume uttered quietly.

"Now," Misawa started, glaring faintly, "You must first understand that what you perceive as 'love' is merely a cocktail of hormones, instincts and social constructs designed to encourage procreation and the creation of family units—"

_No._

_No, it's not._

Manjoume liked science. He respected science. If Manjoume had never met Asuka, he could've easily walked the same road. Emotions and humans were troublesome things, not nearly so simple as calculations and explanations. But as Misawa droned on, Manjoume could see each word out of the boy's mouth was his own way of searching for something to feed the same void.

Manjoume looked around the room. Misawa had surrounded himself with his attempts to cage reality and break it down into something he could understand. He was so obsessed that there was simply no room in his life for anything else. He had become more consumed with the struggle than even Manjoume.

Manjoume glanced back at the Ra student, and realized that before him stood someone who'd been running from his black hole a lot longer than he had, and somewhere along the way, it had taken something irreplaceable from him.

His heart.

Disturbed, Manjoume backed away from Misawa and left the room without a word.

---

The hallways opened up on the upper floors, becoming elegantly curved. The outer wall was mostly window, with a view to the entire island and the sea beyond. The island's lighthouse jutted up on the eastern shore, its long pier stretching out into the ocean.

Manjoume's footsteps slowed, and he drifted towards the windows. His resolve was dissipating and it was sapping his energy. He leaned his shoulder on the glass and looked out over the island.

A dark speck on the pier caught his eye. Manjoume squinted.

_Can't be – he's not still on the island, is he?_

But he was. Hell Kaiser was imposing even as a tiny figure in the distance.

Manjoume hadn't seen much of Kaiser after recovering from the brainwashing. He knew Kaiser had been on the fringes of the Genex tournament, but why had he stayed? It didn't matter. It gave Manjoume a chance to reflect on the elder Marafuji.

In so many ways, Kaiser was his ideal – especially Hell Kaiser. And in all fairness, Manjoume had done the whole hell shtick before him, not to mention trading his outfit in for something black and dangerous. But Hell Kaiser did it _so much better_ than he ever could. His Cyberdark deck was ruthless and ruthlessly played. No one could touch him.

People might rally around Manjoume – when he was winning, at least – but people _feared_ Kaiser. Manjoume's heart sank. He knew that, for all his posturing and posing, he was not someone to be feared. Juudai and his friends had certainly never been afraid of him. Fear was _real_ respect. Otherwise, people were just backing whoever they felt was winning. He had all but defeated the entire Obelisk dorm _twice_ – once as White Thunder, once as Black – and still, the people he found himself associating with the most looked at him no different for it. His own friends didn't respect him –

Manjoume blinked and caught that thought. _Friends?_ He didn't honestly think of the slackers he'd been forced to associate with all this time as his friends, did he? Juudai, Shou, Kenzan – in all his time with him, they had done nothing but annoy him, right?

But his memories proved him wrong. He remembered playing announcer at the Duel Monster festival day with Shou, roughhousing in the water before their encounter with Kaibaman, countless no-stakes duels he'd had with his dorm-mates to sharpen his skills, try out new decks and – admittedly – to have fun. He could not deny that whenever one of their party went missing or was in danger, he was right there at the front of the line to help look, duel villains, whatever he had to do.

No matter how badly he treated them, how he insulted them, how he pushed them all away, how he belittled them, they were still there. It infuriated him at first, but now…

His eyes wandered back to Kaiser, and Manjoume noted something very telling, something that had been as ever-present about the pro duelist as his menacing black coat.

He was completely alone.

Manjoume knew people here missed Kaiser – Fubuki, Asuka, Shou, probably even Juudai – and the former king of Duel Academy simply did not care. He had no use for such attachments. He was pure, raw, unstoppable power, and nothing else. If Misawa had been trying to fill his void, Kaiser had _embraced_ his and become the embodiment of it.

Even so, Manjoume wondered if he could one day achieve Kaiser's dark perfection and follow the tantalizing course the Fubuki-that-wasn't laid out. Sure, he may one day lose his crown, but that seemed far off. In the interim, he knew he would become everything his brothers had ever dreamed of –

Wait.

Manjoume pulled the emergency break on his train of thought. It squealed and screamed along the tracks, throwing sparks and eventually rolling to a complete standstill.

He wasn't sure of much of his knowledge lately, but he was absolutely confident in two things.

His brothers wanted him to be like Kaiser for the sake of some stupid card game, and it hurt him. Their own brother.

Kaiser _was_ like Kaiser for the sake of some stupid card game, and it hurt Shou. His own brother.

He knew what it was to be bullied, domineered, disregarded, and ultimately not accepted by your own family. He knew the abandonment and the humiliation of losing in front of them. He knew what it felt like to be on the receiving end of a relationship with someone like Kaiser.

And it was all _for a card game._ For pride. For money. For whatever shallow and useless things Kaiser and his own brothers felt were on the table.

Manjoume narrowed his eyes at the black-coated boy who represented an ideal he had been pushed towards all his life.

He would _never_ be like that.

---

The school library was as shiny and well-lit as the rest of the school. It was hardly the kind of musty, dark place one might go to for dusty old tomes full of arcane knowledge. Still, as he wandered the halls and his own thoughts, Manjoume became curious about something that was a little bit dangerous.

It had taken him a long time to find the right section. He only had a vague idea of what he was looking for, so he had to search the old-fashioned, manual way. He'd gone through half the library before he finally found the _Occult and New Age_ section and happened upon books that might have the information he sought.

Finally, his hand landed on an older book about divination and a quick thumb-through revealed it had a fairly extensive section on the Tarot. He turned the pages more slowly, glancing over the card art until he found what he was looking for – the image he would never forget.

_**Major Arcana XII – The Hanged Man**_

_**Associated with:** Surrender, sacrifice, acceptance, new point of view, giving up._

_This is a card with a subtle but profound meaning. The hung figure has suspended himself, existing between two extremes, and his new perspective begins a great paradigm shift in his mind. This card represents a time of trial, wherein the seeker figuratively turns his world upside down and becomes vulnerable. The cost of this new knowledge is personal sacrifice. This sacrifice may be a dream, safety, an idea, time, money – or even the self. Whatever the circumstances, the message of this card is clear: nothing will be the same again._

A chill trickled down Manjoume's spine as he sat on the library floor. Before he came to Duel Academy, he was the last person to have a shred of superstition – but after having encounter after encounter with spirits, monsters and strange powers, he was willing to have some faith in a card. It didn't make sense at the time, but in retrospect, the card Saiou had chosen – no, _he_ had chosen for himself made far too much sense.

So he was suspended between two worlds. He had been White Thunder; he had been Black Thunder; he had been everything in between. There were so many possibilities, and he had learned, had _tried_ so many different ways of being. He'd been an elitist snob, a ferocious underdog, a cheater, a liar, a hero, a religious zealot, a winner, a loser, an idol, and an outcast. He loved, he hated. He was so much, and he tried so much… and it was all for nothing.

None of them were for him. He could not have Shou's fantasy; could not have Juudai's apathy; could not have Misawa's logic; could not have Kaiser's cold power.

How many different uniforms would he have to wear before he found himself?

No matter what, at the end of the day, he still had no peace. The fight never ceased. He was a long-suffering soldier at war with the world, and the tally of his victories and defeats faded into meaninglessness in the face of sheer exhaustion. He didn't even care about winning any more, all he wanted was…

Manjoume closed the book and stood. No. It wasn't going to happen.

He'd gotten this book off a high shelf, and he had needed to steal a stool to reach it. He climbed back onto the stool and balanced, sighing and sliding the book back into place. Somehow, though, the heavy weight in his chest threw him off balance, and he realized the stool was starting to tilt below his feet.

Shot with panic, he grabbed bodily onto the bookshelf, and the quick motion only served to set him farther off balance. He scrambled, but he could feel the bookshelf also lose its firm grip on the floor and lean towards him, obviously not built to sustain the weight of a student. Several books on the highest shelf slid off and thudded to the floor. The stool threatened to collapse below him, and the bookshelf threatened to collapse _atop_ him.

The cry was out of his mouth before he even realized he was going to shout. "Gah! Stupid – somebody get in here!"

Horror clamped down on his stomach as he realized the likelihood of someone hearing him. "Misawa! Anyone! I need…"

Manjoume trembled as he struggled to hang on for dear life. At any moment, something was going to break. The sense of impending doom loomed over him like a monstrous storm.

"…help…"

He heard himself wheeze the word under his breath, head hanging. His breathing became labored, and tears clawed at the corner of his eyes, trying to escape.

His fingers were dug into the top of the highest shelf above his head, white-knuckled, shaking and straining to keep their grip. He was losing sensation in them, but they still had enough feeling left in them to suddenly become warm.

Manjoume lifted his head, and his through his blurred vision – much like the veil of the ocean – he thought he saw Fubuki.

The idol was sitting on top of the bookcase, and his hands rested on the younger boy's trembling fingers. He was smiling.

"All you had to do was ask."


End file.
